


Too Good, Too Pure

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, 進撃！巨人中学校 | Shingeki! Kyojin Chuugakkou | Attack on Titan: Junior High
Genre: Food, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:57:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7221436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Plus, it was kind of worth it, to watch you lick the icing off your fingers."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Good, Too Pure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sthom506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sthom506/gifts).



> Written on commission, & posted on this date to celebrate the birthday of my favorite sweet cinnamon roll. Happy Birthday, Marco! :)
> 
> \--

The offensive light of early morning was one of the things Jean hated about his dorm room. From the moment the sun arose, so did he have to, as no matter what kind of shade he hung in front of his small, east-facing window, it seemed like the sunlight was determined to spill through. It wasn't something that anyone had warned him about, when he took the room, and given that his roommate was usually gone with his girlfriend, Jean was typically left to face the morning in silence, alone and bored and thoroughly  _ pissed _ about being awake. 

There were few things that made having to be up hours before any of his classes were scheduled bearable. 

One of those things happened to be available only between the hours of nine and ten in the morning, on weekdays. Baked fresh and made entirely by hand by some of the most adorable old ladies Jean had ever seen, his campus cafeteria's cinnamon rolls were legendary. Sweet, sticky, with just a sprinkling of spice, they weren't just worth rolling out of bed for - they were worth writing home about. (And he had, on more than one occasion.)

Knowing that there would be a few of those sweet treats awaiting him made Jean just a little less salty, as he made his way across campus to secure them. They usually made enough to last the hour, but occasionally they ran short, and Jean had no intention of missing the ten o'clock deadline. But foot traffic on campus was slow in the morning, as people were only beginning to get their feet beneath them for the day, and caffeine was still revving most of their engines only enough to move them along at a shuffle. Jean kept his head down and his jaw set, determined not to stop and chat with anyone on his way to the cafe. There were rolls to be had, and he didn't care who he had to ignore to get one. 

Stepping into the long breakfast line as soon as he'd made it through the cafeteria doors, Jean moved up onto his toes to try to get a better look at the buffet spread. It looked like there was still a heaping tray of sweet, glazed rolls waiting, so he breathed a sigh of relief and pulled his phone from his pocket to bide his time while he waited his turn to load a plate. 

The line moved in inches, edging toward the buffet warmers, and when Jean finally made it up to the stacks of clean plates, he dropped his phone absently into his pocket and looked down the line - and saw no cinnamon rolls. Frowning and looking more closely, he clutched his plate and all but stomped toward the dessert racks. There, he saw that his eyes weren't deceiving him; the rolls were truly gone. 

Jean returned his plate to the discard area, and made his way to a seat empty handed, too angry to even think to leave the cafeteria. 

After a few minutes of sullen silence, Jean heard the telltale shuffle of someone approaching, and felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning to look for its source, he locked eyes with Marco Bodt, a fellow sophomore with whom he’d had several classes - and also on whom he had a pretty massive and probably obvious crush, but that wasn't something he had ever acknowledged aloud to anyone. Marco smiled down at him, motioning to the empty space across from him. 

“Mind if I sit with you for a bit?” 

Jean shook his head, waving toward the empty seat in a silent invitation for Marco to take it. Even Marco’s presence couldn't take his mind entirely off of how angry he was about his lack of sweet breakfast pastries, but it damn sure wasn't a bad thing. Marco took the offered seat and settled his tray in front of him, smiling all the wider across the table at Jean. 

On any other day, Jean’s heart might have been in his throat, with Marco so close to him, outside the walls of a classroom. Ever since he'd first laid eyes on him in their freshman chemistry class, Jean had harbored more than a small flame for Marco, and it didn't help that the guy seemed to be on a similar educational path, popping up in class after class of Jean’s over the next few semesters. They'd developed a friendship through shared notes and group projects, but what Jean really wished for was a little more one-on-one time with Marco, time he was getting without an ounce of effort, right then. But irritated as he was, the otherwise exciting moment was dulled slightly, and he was only a  _ little _ giddy, only  _ kind of  _ over the moon. 

Still though, Marco did look really cute.

“Thanks a lot for sharing breakfast with me. I hate eating alone.” Marco remarked, grinning as he popped off the lid of his vending machine chilled coffee. Reaffixing it, he gave the bottle a quick, firm shake, and Jean spent the next few seconds admiring the way his arm and shoulders tensed as he did so, almost too enamored with his friend’s gorgeous muscles to notice that he also had a full tray of food in front of him, whereas Jean had nothing. And on Marco’s tray, there was one particular item that finally caught Jean’s attention; a fluffy, perfect looking cinnamon roll, dripping with an extra helping of gooey glaze. 

Jean’s mouth watered. 

Somehow, Marco had managed to snag one of the rolls Jean wanted so desperately. He didn't even remember seeing Marco in the line ahead of him, certain he would have remembered, if he had. Jean had no idea how Marco had gotten that cinnamon roll, but he did know that he wanted it. 

He had several options. If luck was on his side, it was possible that Marco would simply offer it to him, without any further effort. But the lucky occurrence of Marco sitting with him had already fallen so easily into his lap, Jean knew he likely couldn't count on his good fortune to hold out much longer. He considered other routes. 

There was always the method of suavity. Jean could  _ charm _ Marco into handing over the pastry. He didn't know if Marco was gay or bisexual - he had only boldly assumed so, based on the way Marco carried himself, the people Jean sometimes saw him with - but either way, Jean could surely wile his way to convincing Marco to share the sweet, sticky wealth. 

And if all else failed, he could always just swipe it. But first, he would try turning on the charm. 

“It's good seeing you again.” Jean said honestly, though he hoped he sounded more casual than he felt, saying it. “It's been what, like since last semester? How've you been?” 

Marco beamed at the inquiry, plucking an orange from the tray in front of him and sinking the tips of his fingers into the skin at one end without looking away from Jean. “I've been great, just staying busy with school, and all. How about you? Anything new or different?”

“Not much.” Jean shrugged. He watched Marco deftly peel away the skin of the fruit, discarding it and working his fingers between the sections of the orange’s inner flesh. He pulled a piece free and popped it into his mouth, humming happily. When he reached for a second piece, the juice ran down his fingers, over his lips as he took a bite. He laughed, reaching for a napkin. Jean was thoroughly lost in watching. 

“I don't feel like we got a whole lot of  time to talk, last year. I'd love to grab coffee or something sometime, if you'd like. Maybe catch up a little more?” 

It took Jean a moment to register that Marco was even speaking to him, let alone to understand what he was being asked. When it finally processed that Marco was asking him out to coffee, Jean blinked, his expression blank with shock as he tried to turn his suavity back on. He sputtered uselessly.

“Uh, yeah, y-yeah, that's - that'd be - yeah I'd be down with that, sure.” 

Across from him, Marco smiled, wider than ever. “Great, I’ll give you my number before I get out of here, and you can just let me know when would be good for you.”

By then, Jean was almost certain that Marco was something other than straight. He had gone to public school and a state university his entire life, and known far more strictly straight men and boys than he cared to remember, and exactly  _ none _ of them would have been so forward, so contagiously  _ happy,  _ asking another guy to coffee. The fact that in the few minutes they'd been sitting together, he'd asked Jean about himself, offered his number and asked Jean to coffee almost  _ cemented _ his likely sexual preference in Jean’s mind, and somewhere in the background of his consciousness, choruses of angels were singing. 

It was distracting. But a whiff of warm, sweet cinnamon reminded Jean of his main objective. He eyed Marco’s breakfast tray, calculating his next move. 

Marco must have noticed him staring. He glanced down at his tray, at the partially eaten orange in his hands, and without hesitation, offered the remainder to Jean. “I'm so sorry, I completely spaced and didn't even realize you didn't have anything in front of you. Do you want anything? Can I buy you some breakfast?”

Jean shook his head automatically. He didn't need Marco’s charity, at least not to the point of Marco buying him a meal, when he had a wallet full of cash in his own pocket. It wasn't worth explaining, either, that he had more than enough to buy himself food, but had forgone eating breakfast in a stubborn fit of irritation at the lack of available cinnamon rolls. 

Then again, there was still a perfectly good pastry, sitting untouched on Marco’s tray. With Marco’s offer still hanging in the air between them, Jean could have easily accepted, with the caveat that he really only wanted a cinnamon roll. Marco would have likely handed his over, without pause. If Jean had been thinking clearly, he would have simply requested it politely, or at the very least lamented aloud about missing out on them, to prompt Marco into offering his up as compensation. 

But he  _ wasn't _ thinking clearly; that was really hard to do, looking directly at Marco Bodt. Marco was adorable and beautifully sincere, and had a musical laugh that punctuated almost every sentence spoken in his melodious voice, and Jean hung on his every word like an absolute  _ loser. _ Marco frowned slightly, clearly worrying over Jean going hungry, but caught up in his cuteness, Jean could do nothing but firmly insist - with a smile, no less - that he was fine, that he didn't need anything, but that he appreciated the offer. 

Finally believing him, Marco grinned again, setting his orange aside. Jean’s original intentions were almost forgotten, until Marco idly reached for his cinnamon roll, pulling the flaky coil of dough apart before Jean could speak up in protest. Once he started eating, there was nothing Jean could really do, other than watch him do so. 

And that, he did. 

Marco was a messy eater, but not in the obnoxious way that Jean’s cousins or roommate were. Marco ate with his hands, pulling the pastry apart slowly, and licking his fingers between bites. Every few seconds, he gave a satisfied hum that made Jean’s stomach leap to his throat, his brain desperately trying not to imagine those sounds in another context. Licking the last swipes of sweet, syrupy glaze from his fingers, Marco looked back at him, going a little pink, embarrassed by Jean’s intent stare. He bit his lip, anxious, and Jean could take no more. 

“Would you be interested in maybe like, I don't know, coming back to my dorm with me for a bit, before classes start?” 

The words were out of his mouth - loudly, at that - before he could stop them, and Marco looked back at him wide eyed for a moment before blinking,  _ thinking.  _

“You, uh… You have a roommate, right?” He asked. Jean nodded, then shook his head almost as quickly. 

“Yeah, but the likelihood that he’ll even be around today is pretty slim, last I checked he was off somewhere bangin’ his girlfriend. Said he'd be back Tuesday, most likely.”

Marco nodded slowly, biting his lip again. This time, he was biting back a grin. 

“And your classes don't start until when, exactly?”

“Technically 2:15, today,” Jean shrugged, “But it's lecture day with Mr. Porter and I seriously don't even care if I miss that shit.” He eyed Marco, realizing after a moment that he was unintentionally mimicking Marco’s lip bite, waiting for his reply. Finally, Marco nodded more deliberately. 

“Sounds good. I don't have class until this evening, so yeah. I’d love to.”

Jean had his things in his pockets before he could even get another word out, and though Marco chuckled at his haste, he was quick to pack up and follow him, dumping his tray on the way out. 

They all but ran the quarter mile to Jean’s dorm, laughing at their own enthusiasm. Marco followed Jean, even taking him by the arm to slow him down, a few times. Jean knew where they were headed, and he  _ hoped _ he knew exactly what they were headed for. 

With a cautious, obligatory knock on the door Jean shared with his roommate, he proved himself right; no one else was in the room. Pulling Marco in behind him and closing the door, Jean fumbled with the knob, attempting to lock it. When he finally gave up and turned to face Marco, he swallowed hard; in the recessed lighting of the dorm room, Marco was looking back at him with an expression Jean hadn't seen before, and given how often he studied Marco’s face when he had the chance, that was truly a feat. 

Marco reached for Jean’s hand, holding it tight, squeezing like he was asking for something. His eyes were dark, heavy, considering how awake he had seemed, only moments before. Jean nodded, wordless, giving Marco permission for whatever it was he was asking for. Marco stepped forward into Jean’s space and pressed his lips to Jean’s, giving him the barest hint of a moment to back away if he wanted, careful in his movements. Jean wanted no such thing; he hooked an arm hard around Marco’s neck, pulling their bodies closer together, chest to chest, so that he could wrap both arms around him, kiss him full and fast and deep. 

The same happy humming that Marco had unwittingly tormented Jean with not an hour before returned, this time a buzzing against Jean’s lips, a soft sound sliding over his tongue as his mouth moved against Marco’s, hungry for him. Marco tasted sweet, the flavor of cinnamon and sugar lingering on his lips. Jean gave a stuttering moan, half broken by the way Marco overwhelmed his senses without even trying. 

“I like you,” Jean whispered, though it was only the two of them, there in the room. “I like you a lot and I've liked you for a while.” Pulling him even closer, Marco sighed, a beautiful, contented sound. 

“Likewise,” he confessed, “And I didn't know if you'd be interested, but I really,  _ really _ wish I had asked about the coffee sooner.” He laughed and leaned in to kiss Jean again, eager and earnest in his every touch as he dropped his hands to Jean’s back, rubbing gentle, swirling patterns down to the waistline of his pants. 

“Well I'm  _ definitely _ interested.” Jean laughed, breathless as his hips rolled forward of their own accord. “I still want that coffee date, but I think I'd like to hang out a little bit between now and then.” He tightened his hold on Marco, pulling him in for yet another kiss, moaning softly against his parted lips before whispering, “Assuming you'd like that, too.”

Marco laughed quietly. “You have no idea how much.” He looked between the two long, narrow beds in the dorm room, looking back to Jean, quietly questioning. Jean nodded sideways, toward the neatly made bed on the right, and Marco took it as his cue to back them toward it. But rather than laying them down - Jean’s first instinct, had he been the one solely in charge of their actions - he sat himself on the bed, pulling Jean into his lap. Still satisfied, Jean gladly climbed onto him, slinging one leg on either side of him so that he could straddled Marco’s thighs. 

“Just so you know, I don't have sex on the first date,” Marco said, a teasing grin beginning to pull at his features. “That would be taking advantage of you. You've at least got to let me take you out for dinner or drinks or something - show you a good time, first.”

Jean outright snorted. “What kind of eighteenth century bullshit is that?!” Marco pouted, tugging Jean down harder against him, making sure he could feel  _ exactly _ how much Marco really did want him. Jean couldn't be sure if the pressure of Marco’s fingertips digging into his thighs or the feeling of his own arousal rubbing ever so slightly against Marco’s was the more maddening sensation. Marco seemed pleased with himself, either way. 

“I'm just old fashioned, is all,” he laughed, “And besides, you deserve it.” He craned his neck to nip at the exposed flesh of Jean’s, just enough to leave a stinging little trail of promise on his heated skin. Pressing his lips against Jean’s neck, he murmured; “I really do like you, Jean.”

“Good, ‘cause I'm awfully fond of you too, Mr. ‘No Sex On The First Date’. You fuckin’ cinnamon roll.” He captured Marco’s lips again, unable to keep kissing him for long, given the wide smiles that both of them couldn't hold back. Jean huffed. “Which reminds me, I was too busy staring at your cute ass to say anything, but fuck you for getting the last cinnamon roll, this morning.”

Marco frowned. “If you had just  _ said _ something, I would have--”

“I know, I  _ know _ you would have,” Jean interjected, “But I’m not that big of an asshole. Well actually I am, but honestly, you distracted me. Plus, it was kind of worth it to watch you lick the icing off your fingers.”

“Well, tell you what,” Marco smiled, trying to hide the blush rising to his cheeks. “How about tomorrow, I take you out for breakfast? I know a great little cafe ten minutes from here that makes the best cinnamon rolls you've ever tasted. You’ll love it.”

“Depends,” Jean smirked, paying Marco back by digging his own fingers into his back and dragging them down slowly, hard enough to leave scratches, if it weren't for his shirt. Marco squirmed beneath him; Jean grinned all the wider. “Does it count as my prerequisite ‘second date’?” 

Marco lost his battle with the blush, but the hungry look in his eyes returned as he considered Jean’s question for all of a moment before nodding. 

“I think it just might.”


End file.
